


Killing Strangers

by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen, Hitman!AU, Ichigo is full of rage, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo was never really alone. The golden-eyed monster has always been there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Link for playlist for this fic available in end notes.

Ichigo’s only ever seen glimpses of him. In the mirror, reflected off the windows, in puddles on the street— there is always a beast walking beside him, one hand on his shoulder, tail twisting protectively around Ichigo’s back. On occasion, it bends down to whisper in his ear, mindful of its horns.

It calls him King, and when Ichigo goes to bed with bruises from bullies, he wakes up with blood on his hands (also from bullies). He learns to fight on his own, of course, he can’t always rely on the monster, his monster, who uses Ichigo’s body when Ichigo’s asleep and leaves him with no memory of the events that lead to cowering older boys during recess the day after. It’s good practice, anyway, a way to make his body stronger for when his monster’s goals can’t be met with tricks and cunning.

As he grows stronger, his monster comes out less. He’s needed less, once Ichigo learns to save his own skin, and Ichigo appreciates that.

 

* * *

 

  
The difference between Ichigo and his monster, he comes to realize, is that Ichigo has mercy.

His monster does not.

 

* * *

 

  
The old man is new, but Ichigo likes him. His monster does not.

 _He’s taken my place,_ he growls, tail twisting possessively around Ichigo’s sword arm. _He’s made you weak._

"No one could take your place," Ichigo tells him, patting his tail comfortingly. "And I’m just a little off-balance. Once we get used to it, we’ll be back to our old selves, I promise."

His monster takes no comfort from his words, tail tightening, claws finding Ichigo’s shoulders.

Ichigo lets it happen.

 

* * *

 

  
_He likes you,_ his monster remarks as Kisuke tucks him into bed, hands lingering over Ichigo’s bandages. _He likes you and you’re too stupid to notice._

 _He does not,_ Ichigo thinks back sharply, turning his face so Kisuke can’t see him frown. _He’s just taking care of the idiot who almost got electrocuted to death._

_Deny all you want, but I know. I can smell him._

_You’re nasty._

 

* * *

 

  
Hirako’s wary of him when Ichigo finally meets him as more than a transfer student, having decided to cut class and visit the Shouten instead. Kisuke finds an excuse to leave them alone with each other, and Shinji gives him a speech that sounds like he rehearsed it in the mirror.

"You’re wrong," Ichigo says when he finishes. "My— hollow, I guess— has always been with me. Urahara-san just made it easier for us to talk."

That makes Hirako nervous, but Ichigo’s only telling the truth. Still, despite that, Hirako offers him… lessons, of a sort. Ichigo declines, because he doesn’t need them.

Him and his monster get along just fine.

 

* * *

 

  
His monster likes Grimmjow enough that, once he’s done pounding him in the dirt, he lets Ichigo take over.

 _Ally_ , he whispers in Ichigo’s ear, claws tightening in the fabric of Ichigo’s shirt. _Keep him_.

Ichigo rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, pulling Grimmjow up by his remaining arm into a fireman’s hold.

"If tearing off limbs is how you welcome an ally, I shudder to think of what you do to enemies when I’m not around," he mutters as he makes his way back to his friends.

 _That’s why I wait ’til your not around, King_. His hollow’s satisfaction is infectious, regardless of Ichigo’s disapproval, and Ichigo can’t help the little smile that only gets wider when his friends go pale.

He puts Grimmjow down carefully and beckons Orihime closer, breaking his mask off bit by bit with his free hand as he goes.

"Fix up my friend here," he orders. "I got a little excited."

Orihime hesitates a moment, then obeys, a shaky smile on her face. She recognizes him, the Ichigo she knows and daydreams about, even through the blood on his face.

She’s a good girl.

Hirako’s showed up, his own mask falling away to reveal too sharp eyes on Ichigo and his prize.

"Kurosaki-kun, are you sure this is a good idea?" Urahara asks carefully, ignoring the blond at the moment. "He’s one of Aizen’s—"

"Yeah," Ichigo says simply. "I like him."

He doesn’t, not yet, but thinks he could, even with his monster’s track record with his own brand of friends.

Frowning, he does a final count. Save for Grimmjow, every other arrancar is dead. They’re humanoid, which is a little off-putting, not really his style, but Ichigo wasn’t really in charge of this fight, so whatever.

 _Keep telling yourself that, King. You_ liked _it_.

That’s half-true. Ichigo likes the fight. He doesn’t like the consequences.

 _Few do_ , the monster answers, and then, _Listen!_

"It took over, Kisuke," Shinji’s hissing, too low for Ichigo to hear, but not for his monster. "He _let it take over_."

"He needs your training, badly," Kisuke agrees. "Immediately."

Ichigo sighs. He won’t hear the end of this, not now.

"You always get me in trouble," he murmurs, then louder, over his monster’s laughter,

"Fine. Train me, if you want, but I’m taking this guy."

Urahara startles, badly. Shinji’s head whips around so fast his hair gets in his eyes.

"I ain’t havin’ an arrancar in my house," he says, crossing his arms.

"Then you _ain’t_ —" Ichigo emphasizes the word. "having me."

Hirako arches an eyebrow.

"I could force ya, ya know."

Ichigo looks him over, cocking his head to hear the whispers.

"I could kill you," he decides. "It’d be hard, but I could do it."

"Now, Kurosaki-kun, there’s no need for threats." Kisuke steps between them with a smile. "I can take him with me."

"No."

"Why not?"

Ichigo shrugs.

"I need him."

 

* * *

 

  
The Visored are careful of him, particularly after his monster nearly fillets Hiyori out of sheer surprise, but they’re alright. Fun to train with. They’re strong, occasionally stronger than Ichigo, and it’s good practice, finding a way to balance out his instincts with his monster’s.

They’re never stronger than when they’re together.

Grimmjow’s better company than the Visored. Ichigo tells him about human things— music, movies, books— and at night, when everyone (including Ichigo) is asleep, his monster takes Ichigo’s body and talks about monstrous things, like war and coups and death.

Grimmjow takes it all very well, once he realizes Ichigo is more than just a jumped-up kid trying to fight a god. After a while, he even gets… friendly.

"There’s a couple who don’t care for Aizen," he tells Ichigo one evening, huddled together on the roof upstairs. "They think he can protect them. But they could be convinced otherwise."

"How?"

"You killed his fourth and his tenth," Grimmjow says simply. "I could get the seventh through ninth, easy— plus any others that might put a fight." Grimmjow leans closer. "If I can convince the others they aren’t safe in Las Noches, they might listen to you."

"And how do you think you’re going to do that?"

Grimmjow tells him. Ichigo’s monster purrs.

 _Ally_ , he says again in Ichigo’s ear.

 _Friend_ , Ichigo thinks back.

 

* * *

 

  
"What do you mean ya let him go?"

"He’s doing me a favor," Ichigo says. "Don’t worry about it."

Shinji’s mouth pinches.

"You’ve got a spy," he says after a moment. "You don’t seem the type."

"I’m not." Ichigo taps his temple with a finger. "He is."

"Really." Shinji sounds suspicious. "And how do you know your hollow’s just trying to get one over on you?"

Ichigo rolls his eyes.

"Really, Hirako, you’ve got to get over this," he says. "He’s always taken care of me. He always will. After all—" Ichigo smiles. "If I die, he dies."

 _It’s not the only reason,_ his monster says indignantly as they walk away _. I like you_.

"You didn’t always, I’m sure."

 

* * *

 

  
Hollows start showing up at his door— a woman, a child and her brothers ( _Fraccion_ , his monster supplies helpfully), a man and his… whatever she is, even his monster’s not really sure. They come to him, and they talk about death, about strawberries painted in blood.

Grimmjow’s an asshole, even if he is a friend.

Ichigo has their promises, and gives a few of his own. His monster gives more, and by the end, they call him king, no matter what he tells them.

His monster doesn’t mind.

 _Respect is earned, and you’ve earned it well,_ he whispers to Ichigo as he lies awake in bed. _It’s good to see the others learning what I’ve always known._

He sounds proud.

 

* * *

 

  
Ichigo loses everything.

Even his monster.

He cries for days when he realizes he can’t see him anymore, can’t hear his high-pitched giggles or hisses of advice. His dad thinks he’s mourning the loss of his powers, and maybe he is, a little bit, but mostly, he misses his monster.

His friend.

 

* * *

 

  
It takes about a month before Ichigo realizes Rukia’s never coming back. Everyone else, he could stand to lose, but not her.

The knowledge makes him snappish and irritable. His friends— already barely friends, with their secrets and avoidance— distance themselves further. His father— his lying, useless father— avoids talking, pretends everything’s alright and Ichigo’s soul hasn’t been torn in half.

Sometimes, on his darker days, Ichigo thinks Aizen might have had the right idea, surrounding himself with hollows.

Grimmjow and the other Espada— the ones that are alive, the ones that are Ichigo’s— keep in contact as best they can. He can’t see them, after all, but they leave letters on his windowsill, updates on Las Noches and what awaits him when they return his powers.

Ichigo has no idea how, but Harribel assures him they’re working on it.

Still, the pain, the anger, it shudders under his skin for weeks, until all he can do is dream of killing them all— Rukia, Renji, his father, his sisters, his classmates. It all builds, and builds, and builds, all to the point that Ichigo finds himself pounding the shit out of some gaki in a bar.

When he walks out and is immediately pressed into a car, he expects to be killed. He’d welcome it.

But he isn’t that.

"I know about you, Kurosaki Ichigo," the man in the car says. "I know you used to kick the shit out of the street rats. I know you sacrificed a lot to save even them from a war among the dead."

Ichigo doesn’t say anything, but he takes the cigarette the man offers him even if he’s never smoked before.

"Most people think it more polite to ignore the spirits they see," the man offers. "And if we continued thinking like that, if you had thought like that… we’d all be dead."

Ichigo lets out a harsh laugh.

"I can’t see them anymore," he says. "I lost my sight with my powers."

"I know." The man leans forward, into the light. Ichigo recognizes him as a yakuza boss, but he’s uncertain which one. "But I also know you’re a warrior, Kurosaki-san, and just because they took your sword doesn’t mean you can’t fight."

Ichigo eyes him carefully.

"I know you’re a criminal," he says. "I don’t know which one, but I know you’re a criminal."

"Yes," the man agrees easily. "And I’m offering you a job to kill other criminals."

"You want an attack dog."

"I want a killer." The man sips his sake carefully. "I can see it in you, Kurosaki-san. You’re dangerously close to a breaking point, I think, and if you don’t let off some of that steam, you’re gonna hurt somebody, maybe somebody more important to you than one of my gakis."

Ichigo swallows, but he doesn’t look away. He’s thought about it, of course. That’s why he went out tonight.

"Listen, Kurosaki-san, you’re not the first to have this problem. What I’m offering is a way to… balance, until you find your feet."

"… You’d pay me."

"For every head."

Ichigo fiddles with the cigarette thoughtfully.

"You think I wanna kill people," he says.

"I think you need to blow off some steam— steam a punching bag won’t help with."

"…" Ichigo sighs. "You’re right."

The man smiles.

"I know."

 

* * *

 

  
Ichigo has a gun, a name, and an advance. He’s uncertain of the decision right up until the body— because he’s already dead, Ichigo’s been practicing— hits the floor.

He feels… relief.

 

* * *

 

  
Ichigo wakes up the next morning with one word on his wrist in sharpie.

King.

He smiles, gets ready for school, and makes an appointment at the tattoo parlor down the road.

 

* * *

 

  
The job, being a hitman, comes easily, to the point he’s getting offers for freelance work.

He never takes it, but they ask for him by name anyway.

They call him Desalmado.

 

* * *

 

  
It’s been eight months since Ichigo lost his powers, six months since he took a job under Kaibara. He’s gotten used to a lot of things being in his life— guns and good suits, nice wine and expensive dinners, nights in the Kaibara house with a girl or two. He doesn’t make friends among his fellow soldiers, exactly, but Kaibara’s son is only a few years older then him, a nice young man with two little girls who absolutely adore their father’s quiet friend.

When Isshin finally finds the balls to ask what sort of job Ichigo’s working that has him dressed so well with such odd hours, Ichigo tells him he babysits uptown.

Isshin, bless his suspicious, cowardly heart, doesn’t pry, but he does set a tail— at least, that’s what Grimmjow tells him.

_I’ve been keeping him distracted. Back alleys and back doors are your best friend._

Ichigo keeps that letter with him, tucked in his pocket every time he steps out for a job, and so far, there’s been no complication.

 

* * *

 

  
There’s a complication.

See, there’s a system. Ichigo gets a call. Then, he goes to the bar— the Red Circle Club, just off Main St.— and gets the name off the bartender. Once he has the name, he goes to his place— the hotel room he keeps for himself two block away— loads up on the essentials, and takes the car waiting for him to wherever he needs to be. Once he’s done, he calls ahead to the bar, packs up, gets back in the car, and drops off his things at the hotel, and walk the two blocks back to the bar where he’s given a suitcase or two of cash and a bar tab.

Everything is completely normal on this particular night. Everything has gone positively swimmingly, with minimal damage, no witnesses, and a clean, easy getaway.

So why is it, exactly, that Urahara Kisuke is sitting at the bar when Ichigo comes in for pickup?

It takes a moment for Ichigo to recognize him. He’s not dressed in his usual wear, swapping out his hat and getas for a dark green suit that suits him remarkably well. Besides that, Ichigo hasn’t seen him for a good while, almost long enough to forget him.

The fury that sparks is familiar and painful in his gut, but before he can turn away, he’s noticed.

"Kurosaki-san, aren’t you a little young for this place?"

Ichigo stomps down on what he wants to say and instead turns to the girl behind the bar.

"Usual, please."

"Coming right up, Kurosaki-san."

She comes back with a glass and a bottle of whisky.

"A whole bottle is your usual?" Kisuke muses. "You drink like your father."

Ichigo’s hand tightens around the glass.

"Isshin prefers sake," he says, forcing his fingers to relax as he pours. "And a good night in with all his children within reach."

Urahara gives him a sharp look, and oops, it looks like Ichigo may have sounded a little too venomous there.

Thankfully, Urahara has his own way of handling curiosity.

"I’ve been trying to find you for days, you know," he says conversationally as Ichigo downs his drink. "But every time I got close to talking to you, you disappeared."

Ichigo snorts.

"I’ve got a good bodyguard," he says. "Grimmjow told me I was being followed weeks ago. I took the necessary precautions."

"Precautions? Against shinigami?"

Ichigo shrugs.

"From what I’ve been told, the Seireitei has a history of attempted assassinations and unlawful imprisonment," he says. "If they deemed me a threat, I can’t exactly defend myself, can I?"

"And why would they deem you a threat?"

"Because souls are patently unreasonable and prone to rash decisions— in my experience, at least."

Urahara hums, conceding the point.

"So, your arrancar friend has been watching out for you," he says thoughtfully. "That’s nice of him."

"He’s a good friend. Tries to keep regular contact even though I can’t see him." Ichigo smiles bitterly. "It’s good to have someone to count on."

"I imagine it is." Urahara fiddles with his martini glass, rolling the stem between his fingers. "How have you been, Kurosaki-san?"

Ichigo pours himself another glass.

"I’ve found ways to keep busy."

Urahara snorts.

"I’ve heard. You’re babysitting, I understand."

"I do odd jobs, yes."

"Is that why the girl behind the counter knows your name?"

"I’m not a professional drunk, if that’s what you’re implying."

"No, of course not." Urahara leans closer. "But you’re doing something shady, if my understanding of this bar’s reputation is correct."

"What do you want, Urahara-san?"

"Nothing, really, just your help." He leans closer. "You know your way around this scum pretty well, don’t you, Kurosaki-san? You’ve always been in the loop when it comes to nastier parts of Karakura."

Ichigo thinks about his answer, thinks about the gangs he used to fight, the friends his monster made, and the position he’s in now.

"You could say that," he agrees after a moment.

"Could you point me in the direction of a man that goes by the name Desalmado?"

Ichigo feels his chest tighten.

"I’ve been looking for him a while, but I can’t quite seem to catch him." The blond smiles. "Too busy trying to track you down, it seems."

"Why are you looking for him?"

"Well, besides the obvious name—" It sounds like an arrancar’s, he knew he shouldn’t have let Grimmjow pick it for him. "He’s been involved in a series of hits throughout the city. If it’s one of Aizen’s—"

"All of Aizen’s are dead. We made sure of it."

"Really?" Kisuke says blandly. "You managed to track down every one of his followers and slaughtered them."

Ichigo shrugs. "Not me personally, but Harribel and Stark have been handling it for nearly a year— you know, his Third and his First."

Urahara seems surprised by that. Ichigo’s not sure why— he’s certain he told the man about the arrancar.

"So where’s Grimmjow-san been in all this?"

"Keeping you off my tail. Keeping an eye on me." Ichigo sits back.

"Desalmado’s just a man," he says. "Nothing to peak your interest, I’m sure."

"You’ve met him?"

Ichigo smiles thinly.

"After a fashion."

"What’s he like? Did you get a read on him?"

"C’mon, Urahara-san, I’m a straightforward kinda guy, you know that."

"But you’re good with people." Kisuke’s close, too close, probably close enough to smell the blood on Ichigo’s jacket sleeve. "Tell me what you thought of him."

Ichigo sighs.

"He’s angry," he says. "Lonely. The rumor is he lost his twin in a stickup a year or two back. There’s another that his dad was a fuck up, some kinda addict."

The rumors are close enough to the truth, even if Ichigo flipped a table hearing them.

"Sounds like he might be unbalanced."

"He is. From what I understand, nobody really notices."

Urahara nods to himself and finishes his drink, popping the olive into his mouth and swallowing.

"Thank you, Kurosaki-san. You’ve been a great help." he gets to his feet, a little unsteady. "Stop by the Shouten sometime, if you want. We’ve missed you."

"Maybe." On a cold day in hell. "I’ll keep it in mind."

"Good— and, Kurosaki-san?"

"Yeah?"

"You should stop writing on your skin. I’ve heard it’s bad for you."

Ichigo looks down. The pen he usually keeps in his jacket pocket is in his hand, and there’s a word just over his thumb.

Ally.

Ichigo looks up, but Urahara’s already gone.

 

* * *

 

  
When Ichigo is actually, physically working, he wears a wig. A long, black wig, made of real hair that cost twice as much as a car.

This shouldn’t be surprising, really. His hair is an identifier, after all, and his suits are far to expensive to ruin with a hat. So he wears a wig— sometimes sunglasses, just to be thorough when he happens to be in areas he’d frequent throughout the day.

Like tonight.

Tonight is a relatively easy night, with a minimal scuffle and only three dead. Save for the one that went out the window— the one that cause the minimal scuffle— Ichigo considers it a job well done.

Straightening his tie, he holsters his guns, sheathes his knife, and pulls out his cellphone.

"It’s done," he says into the receiver as he makes his way down the stairs. "Heading to the bar. Be there—"

There’s someone in the doorway. Ichigo’s gun is in his hand in a moment, pointed at the stranger’s head.

The stranger doesn’t move.

"— In ten." Ichigo hangs up, sliding the phone back into his pocket.

"So you’re Desalmado," the stranger drawls. "Working late?"

Ichigo twitches. He knows that voice.

"Urahara," he grunts. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh? You know me?" The blond doesn’t sound surprised. "That’s unusual. Kaibara usually keeps it to himself when he loans out his pets."

Ichigo hears loans and pets and feels rage bubble under his skin.

"Kaibara told me nothing," he says. "I make it my business to know monsters."

"Monster? That’s a new one." He can feel the blond smiling. "I suppose you’re not wrong. Do you know why those men are dead? Why you killed them?"

"Yes."

"Oh?" Kisuke sounds… amused. Like there’s something to laugh about. "Were you told they stood against Kaibara, that they would topple his little castle?"

Ichigo bears his teeth.

"I owe no allegiance to that _scum_."

"And yet you kill for him."

"He offered an opportunity previously unexplored, something I imagine a man like you would appreciate."

"And what kind of a man do you think I am?"

The words come to Ichigo’s lips before he can stop himself. He’s so angry, and this man dares test him.

"Child killer," he hisses. "Night stalker. _Nazi_."

Ally. The words burn hatefully under his glove, inked on his skin as the second piece of evidence that his monster’s still there.

"Nazi? Really?"

"Your story is out there, same as everyone else’s," Ichigo tells him, stepping closer. His hands are shaking. "A warden, in a prison where the innocent go. Experiments, done in the shadows on unwilling patients. Liar, breaker of oaths, assassin, coward."

"You sure do know a lot, for a human," Kisuke remarks after a beat. His tone is measured, almost even, save for the smallest shake that only Ichigo could detect. "So tell me if you know this, Desalmado, if I’m an assassin, and you’re Kaibara’s dog of a hitman… What’s the difference?"

Ichigo counts backwards from ten before answering.

"From what I understand," he starts, speaking slowly, as if to a child. "You killed for sport."

"And what do you kill for?"

"I kill because I have to."

"Nobody has to."

Ichigo chuckles darkly, holstering his gun.

"If I didn’t kill those men upstairs, I might have killed someone important to me," he says. "Kaibara understands that, and acts accordingly. I even get paid." Reaching into his pocket, he plucks out a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"I’m done for the night," he says. "Have a good night, Urahara."

Urahara steps to one side, bowing his head.

"And you, Desalmado-san," he says pleasantly. "Be safe."

Ichigo blows smoke in his face as he passes.

"I’ll be sure of that."

 

* * *

 

  
"Fancy meeting you here, Kurosaki-san."

Ichigo rolls his eyes and calls for another drink. He’s going to need one.

"Hi, getaboushi," he greets. "What do you want?"

"Just some information— I met your friend a few nights ago. Desalmado."

Three weeks ago, to be exact, but who’s counting? Not Ichigo.

"I mighta heard something about that," Ichigo hums, sipping his drink. "What do you want from me?"

"I’m curious as to where he gets his information. I thought you might know."

"Said something you didn’t like, did he? What did he say?"

Kisuke slides into the seat beside him, gray eyes intent.

"He knew an awful lot about my… previous professions."

"Oh, the warden thing? Most of us know that shit." At Kisuke’s raised eyebrow, he sighs. "Look, Karakura’s practically a second home to a shit ton of shinigami. Everybody’s got kids, and some even keep in touch."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means I share a class with your three times great-granddaughter, that’s what." Ichigo smiles crookedly. "There’s more kids like me than you’d think, Urahara-san, and they like to swap stories. Why else would this place attract so many hollows? There’s more reiryoku in this town than most shinigami would know what to do with."

"I…" Kisuke’s lips pinch. "How long have you known this?"

Ichigo shrugs.

"Not long. It doesn’t matter, either way. Bloodlines are so diluted here there’s barely anyone with the Sight anymore unless they’re first generation. Like me." Ichigo picks up his drink. "It probably helps that kaa-san was who she was, too."

Kisuke goes stiff.

"Excuse me?"

The teen sighs.

"Okay, so, kaa-san? Her best friend was Kurotsuchi’s granddaughter. She’s the one that told me about kaa-san being a Quincy. Her son was in my algebra class for three years— he helped me catch up after missing so much school. So Yurimaru’s great-grandfather is Kurotsuchi’s kid, and he doesn’t like you very much. He also really, really likes his granddaughter, and comes to visit sometimes. You know how some parents tell their kids not to talk to strangers? Well, Yurimaru wasn’t allowed to walk through your neighborhood alone until he was sixteen."

Kisuke has gone very pale, noticeable even under the odd, red lights of the club..

Ichigo smiles meanly into his drink.

"You know those things aren’t true, right? I didn’t hurt anyone."

"No, you did," Ichigo says simply. "There’s a photo album or two dedicated to your work in their basement. Nasty shit, Urahara-san. Really gross."

Kisuke goes quiet, so Ichigo continues.

"The other big one that goes around about you is the Aizen family, of course. How you slaughtered his little sister when she was sleeping in her crib. The story is he’s lucky it was your first mission, or he’d be dead, too."

"I—"

"I don’t care, Urahara-san, I really don’t." Ichigo sets his drink down. "I’ve always known you’re a piece of shit. I know from experience. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like you… It just means I have to restrain myself from putting a knife in your gut every now and again."

The blond huffs a laugh, which is just fine, even if Ichigo’s being completely serious.

"I guess I’m lucky you’re such a softie, Kurosaki-san," he murmurs, barely audible over the music. "Or else I’d be in deep trouble."

"You’re damn right. Now have a drink or leave."

Urahara sighs and calls the bartender over, and Ichigo settles into a night of quiet seething and stomping down the odd flare of hope in his chest.

Ichigo’s heart’s too big.

That’s probably why it hurts so much.

 

* * *

 

  
Ichigo’s got blood on his face, seeping into the collar of his suit. He can feel his monster’s breath on his neck, or maybe he can’t. He’s not sure.

Letting his sword drop from his fingers, Ichigo glances over his shoulder. His monster looks different, smaller, more humanoid, its mask tucked to one side as it peers at Ichigo, nose to nose with its king. He’s barely there, like smoke, fading in places until Ichigo can see the trees behind.

 _They’re in the bushes,_ he says, eyes darting manically between Ichigo’s face and the far side of the courtyard. _Show them what they want to see._

 _Weakness,_ Ichigo thinks as his body slumps against his will, a prod from his monster. _They can’t have it._

 _You’re thinking like a king._ His monster sounds amused. _They must. Or we’ll never be whole again._

_And how do you know that?_

_I can feel it._

Ichigo sighs, then lets his knees buckle. Ginjo’s body— what’s left of it— provides a nice, squishy padding for his palms, which he appreciates, even if it stains the sleeves of his suit.

"Fuck," he whispers as gravity drags at his limbs, pulling him until his head is pillowed on stone. "What a mess."

_Huh. It seems they aren’t going to come to your rescue._

Ichigo snorts.

"They never do," he mutters. He sticks a hand straight up into the air.

"You can come out now," Ichigo calls, forcing his head up just enough to peer at the rustling bushes. "I’m done for the night."

There’s a pause, and then Kisuke’s kneeling over him, checking his pulse, and pressing glowing hands into the worst of his wounds.

"You’re a sneaky brat," he murmurs, bending over Ichigo to push the mush of Ginjo’s body out of the way. "How long did you know we were there?"

Ichigo laughs weakly.

"I knew Goat Face put a tail on me months ago," he admits easily, wincing when the blond presses too hard. "Dumb bastard can’t just grow some balls and just say he thinks I’m lying. Then he mighta got somewhere."

"Would you have answered truthfully, I wonder, if he were so direct as to point out no babysitter wears Armani suits to work."

Ichigo grins through a mouthful of blood.

"I don’t know. I might’ve."

"Ichigo, you son of a bitch!"

"Hey!" Ichigo tries to sit up. "Don’t talk about my mother that way, midget!"

"You just couldn’t wait, could you? You had to go and pull some stupid shit—"

He’s being hugged by someone very small, very strong, and very annoyed. Sighing, he pushes away the pain and hugs her back.

 _She’s glad to see you_ , his monster remarks.

"It’s almost enough to make me forget I wanted her head on a pike," he agrees out loud, gaining an odd look from Urahara over her shoulder. "Hey, Rukia."

Rukia appears not to have heard his comment. Instead, she pulls back and slaps him.

"Ow!" _Nevermind, lemme kill her_.

"You idiot— did you really think I’d not come back for you?"

Ichigo huffs a laugh.

"Well, when you leave a guy hanging for a year and a half…" he trails off, smiling. "I’m happy to see it was only a miscommunication."

Rukia rolls her eyes.

"Fix him up, Urahara-san," she orders. "We’ve got a gift that needs giving."

She walks away then, leaving Ichigo to lie back down on the grass.

"Women are crazy," he complains.

"With any luck, she’ll be preoccupied for the next few hours chasing down the rest of Ginjo’s little group," the blond says. "This will hurt."

Of course it will.

 

* * *

 

  
"You know, the hair threw me off. I didn’t realize it was you right up until the end."

Ichigo’s at the bar again, collecting his pay for the night.

He sighs.

"Urahara-san," he greets without turning.

"Why did you take the job?" he asks. "Why did you… why?"

Ichigo sighs.

"Let’s go to my place," he says. "It’s right around the corner."

 

* * *

 

  
"I’ve yet to see you walk in with a brunette, Desalmado-sama."

"Well, gentlemen prefer blondes, Nege-chan. How’s business?"

"Always good. Have a nice night."

"You too."

Ichigo kisses the hooker on the cheek before leading Kisuke to the elevator.

"I keep a room for myself here," he explains quietly at the shopkeeper’s questioning look. "I didn’t want to keep my equipment at home."

"Why’s that?"

"Besides tou-san snooping? I didn’t want a weapon nearby if I got pissed off and decided to blow of Karin’s head when she came home from your place." He smiles faintly. "I’ve had a bit of an anger management problem since the war."

"… I’ll say."

Ichigo’s rooms are small, but comfortable, with a tiny kitchenette and guns mounted on every spare bit of wall.

"I’m a collector," he says with a shrug when Kisuke stares for too long. "Have a seat."

Ichigo puts the kettle on, opens a window, and takes the only other chair at the little table.

"Hirako probably told you I handle my mon— hollow differently," Ichigo starts, stumbling over his terminology.

"He might have mentioned something," Urahara agrees. "You… he said you claimed your hollow had always been with you."

"Yeah." The teen smiles crookedly. "I couldn’t always see him, when I was younger. Couldn’t talk to him like I wanted. He handled my bullies until I could handle them myself."

"Violently, I imagine."

Ichigo nods.

"We’re both violent. really," he admits easily. "But I’m more compassionate, I think. His only goal is to keep me safe. It makes him merciless."

"So you were in control when you tore Grimmjow-san’s arms from his body."

"No, of course not. But he was the one who told me to keep him." Ichigo grins. "It worked out pretty well. Grimmjow and the others have been cleaning up Las Noches for the last year. I get updates."

Kisuke’s lips pinch.

"You’ve been in contact with the arrancar?"

"Of course. They missed me." Ichigo lights a cigarette. "Grimmjow’s the one that came up with the name, too. Desalmado. He thought it was funny."

"Do you know what it means?"

"Heartless, cruel, fiend. That was the joke, at first." He sighs. "We kept each other balance. He kept all my anger and hatred, left me with all the complicated feelings. That’s why I can forgive you for all your bullshit— or I’ll be able to, once everything balances out again.

"It’s sort of complicated, but… when he was silenced, all the feelings mashed together. It made it really hard to… to deal with everyone leaving." Ichigo shakes his head. "Rukia’s my best friend, but when I realized she wasn’t coming back, I started thinking about all the ways I could have killed her. It would have been so easy— I mean, she slept in my closet. If I’d let him kill her, he would have, and I wouldn’t have been dragged into the war and I would have had him back."

"You had these thoughts often?"

"Yeah," Ichigo says. "It was all I could do not to set your damn Shouten on fire. All I could do not to shove Goat Face’s head into a blender. All I could do not to slit Karin’s throat when she came home and lied about soccer practice."

"But you didn’t."

"No. Yuzu helped with that." he pulls at his cigarette absently. "She’s the only one in my family that never pissed him off. She’s too sweet, I think. Too sincere to hurt, and killing off my family would make her cry. I did snap, eventually, though."

Urahara looks a little hesitant.

"How?"

"Got in a bar fight."

"Did you kill him?"

"No. Kaibara picked me up and offered me a job. He knew the look in my eye, somehow."

The tea kettle whistles. Ichigo gets up to turn off the stove, setting down sugar and milk on the table before bringing over two plain white mugs.

"So… your work is a coping mechanism?"

"I’d rather kill strangers than loved ones," he says with a shrug. "And I love them all. Even you, Urahara-san."

"I appreciate that." Kisuke carefully spoons sugar into his cup. "Will… will you continue with your work?"

"For a little while," Ichigo admits. "I think he’ll take over full-time, eventually. Desalmado suits him better than Zangetsu, anyway, and I think I’ll lose the stomach for it."

"He—"

"He takes control, when I let him. He usually asks permission, nowadays." He hums thoughtfully. "I guess I’ll keep in touch with Kaibara on my own, though. His son’s a nice guy, and his grandkids? Sweetest things in the world, after Yuzu."

"You…" Kisuke shakes his head. "This makes no sense."

"Nothing ever does. I’m a mutant, basically, if that helps in the way of explaining things. One of a kind, special snowflake."

The blond snorts.

"I’ve always known that."

"Yeah, you have." Ichigo leans across the table to stub out his cigarette. "I roll with the punches, Urahara-san. It’s the only way to keep sane."

"You’re not sane."

"That’s rude, considering who you are."

"… I suppose you’re right."

"Yeah." Ichigo hums. "I’ll be fine, getaboushi, it’ll just take a little time."

"We damaged you. Took away everything." Kisuke peers at him from under his hat. "How do I know you won’t turn on Soul Society?"

Ichigo shrugs.

"Not worth the effort, really," he says. "And anyway, you didn’t really take him away from me. My sacrifice— and it was my sacrifice— silenced him for a while. But he was still there, in his little way."

Ichigo holds out his hand, shows him the two little tattoos, written in a cursive not quite his own.

"He calls me King," he explains, pointing to the one on his wrist. "And when you came into the bar that first time? You were ally— a word he only used once before, to convince me to keep Grimmjow."

Kisuke takes his hand. His grip is firm, his fingers cold and trembling as he peers at the words carefully.

"Does he like me?"

"He thinks you could be useful. I’m the one that likes people, not him." Ichigo takes his hand back. "So the real question is, was he right to think you trustworthy?"

The blond licks his lips.

"I think…" he says carefully. "That we’ll keep your— or your monster’s, I’m not quite sure— exracurriculars between us. I can’t exactly judge what you do in your spare time, not with my track record."

"You could," Ichigo says, shrugging. "I’d just be very hurt."

"I don’t want to hurt you," Kisuke says. "I never have."

"I know." Ichigo glances at the microwave clock. It’s three-thirty in the morning. "The bed’s got enough space for two, if you’re tired."

Kisuke swallows.

 _Told you he liked you,_ his monster purrs, _pleased._

_Shut up._

"I don’t think I should, Kurosaki-san," Kisuke’s saying. "I’m sure Tessai’s wondering where I am—"

"No different from any other night, then," Ichigo interrupts. "C’mon, stick around. It won’t do any harm."

Kisuke looks like he wants to argue, then shakes his head, shoulders relaxing tiredly.

"You’re a bad influence, Kurosaki-san," he murmurs. "Have you got anything stronger than tea?"

Ichigo does, and two hours later, just as the sun comes up, he pulls a slightly drunk blond to bed.

"You called me a Nazi," Kisuke murmurs into Ichigo's shoulder. "That was mean."

"I was pissed off, and I knew it'd make you pissed off, too," Ichigo says. "You can't deny the similarities."

Kisuke's hand tightens at his hip.

"I'm sorry for it," he says, and he looks different without a hat and half-slumped into Ichigo's side. "I know it doesn't help, but I am."

Ichigo smiles sadly.

"Let's get some sleep, Urahara-san."

"I'll do better, Kurosaki-san. I promise."

The teen pats his head lightly and sets him gently on the bed.

A few minutes later, there’s a tail wrapped around his ankle. It appears his bedmate likes his pillows person-shaped if the way his arms are wrapped around Ichigo’s middle are any indication, which is something he's looking forward to teasing him about tomorrow. For now, though, Ichigo lets it all go.

He’s fucking tired.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was watching John Wick, the story of Keanu Reeves kicking the shit out of Theon Greyjoy for killing his dog. The soundtrack was amazing, so, I got bored and downloaded Manson's 'The Pale Emperor' and listened to 'Killing Strangers' until I could shit this out at one in the morning. Go look up the song, it's pretty excellent.
> 
> EDIT: No need to look up the song, I made a playlist! It's available to listen to on my 8track profile (straight-out-hobbiton). Link here: http://8tracks.com/straight-out-hobbiton/killing-strangers


End file.
